rekindled
by dubrovna
Summary: Selina comes home. Set after the events of JL.


Selina Kyle, Runaway Bride. _Go figure._

She had been in the process of zipping up her forty-thousand-dollar custom made wedding gown when, in a particularly bad case of cold feet, she shed the silk number, packed as much of her belongings as she could, and left her engagement ring on the vanity with a hastily scribbled note to her fiancée in French that read:

 _Luc, I'm more sorry than you can possibly imagine. Or possibly believe. Please forgive me. Or don't. Sincerely, Cecilia._

(Cecilia, of course, being her alias while she lived in the French Riviera for the past couple of years.) She felt the slightest bit of remorse, having led on the poor man like she did, but was as surprised as he would probably be at calling the wedding off. _Maybe I shouldn't lie to these guys from the get-go; Cecilia, ha!_

With the help of Alfred and Dr. Thompkins, the only two Gothamites worthy of invitation to such a soiree, she hailed a taxi and flew home to Gotham City with a one-way ticket. The humid, putrid stink of the city wafted across her face as soon as she got out of the plane, forcing her to realize how genuinely she missed the crumbling city she called home. Then, with a sudden and forceful feeling of déjà vu, Selina drove the first rental car she could find from GIA straight to the manor, hauled her bags inside, and was met with a surprise.

That's how he found her when he walked into the main hall of Wayne Manor. She was as tall and as elegant as ever, a vision in red surrounded by luggage in the middle of the room, the warmth of the afternoon sun casting a glow on her figure as it transcended the tall, French windows and fell across her porcelain skin. The paleness of the paint on the walls and the marble on the floor making her stand out and stand brighter than normal; Selina was impossible to miss. With her hands on her hips, she admired the work in progress of the renovation of the main hall into the Hall of Justice, the supposed headquarters for the new Justice League, and he just knows that she is making judgements on the design choices.

"I like what you've done with the place," she says, not turning. Even when he was his stealthiest, she would always know when he was behind her. _It's your energy_ , she once told him late one night. _You emit this sort of static; it's palpable, magnetic. I can find you anywhere, feel you anywhere._ (And then he proceeded to show her just how good he could feel.) For Bruce,Selina Kyle was always the exception to his every rule and it never truly bothered him. Her voice brought him back to the present, "It's nice. _Cozy_." Her words are thick with sarcasm and saturated with appeal.

"Selina," he greeted her somewhat gruffly. "I wasn't expecting you."

"Good," she says, turning at last and casting a brilliant smile in his direction. "I'd be predictable if you _were_."

To say she has no effect on him would be a lie; no woman could affect Bruce Wayne like Selina could. From the moment they met, she had him captivated. The last time he had seen her had been just after the death of Superman, when he had needed companionship and she had, somehow knowingly, appeared right on time for the emotional support he craved. That had been over a year ago, so much had transpired in both of their lives, an ocean apart, since then.

His eyes immediately fall onto her hand, noting the ring it lacks. "Weren't you getting married today?"

She frowns, "That didn't quite work out how I planned."

He mirrors her expression as genuinely as possible. "I'm sorry."

A scoff. "No, you're not."

And after a pause: "No, I'm not."

Selina bites her lip, pulling with her teeth traces of red lipstick, a hundred questions running through her head. She hadn't felt this vulnerable since she had visited him last year and they had confessed how much they truly missed one another. Selina doubted there would be an encore of that performance; while she loved Bruce more than any other man she'd ever known, she knew his sweet and sentimental side was seldom on guard.

"Well," she clasps her hands, looking for ways to change the subject. "Are you going to show me around or am I going to stand here all day?"

"There's not much to show," he admits, leading her to the kitchen. "It's only the main hall that will really be of importance. I'll probably build some secret entrances on the east and west wings for access. But the rest of the manor remains the same, and you already know your way around pretty well."

Before she left Gotham, Selina had lived in the manor for some three odd years. It had been part of an experiment on both their behalves to see how successful they could be at a "normal" relationship. For the most part, it worked; she ended her third year at the manor with his mother's ring and the sweetest promise he'd ever made. Her stay, and their relationship by extension, practically ended with the burning down of the manor the night Jason was killed. Walking through the charred walls brings her back to that night, to the incredible sorrow and pain that was felt throughout the entire family.

She continues with hesitation, "Are you going to restore the rest of the manor?"

Bruce, reaching for a bottle of wine and two glasses, shakes his head. "It wouldn't be right."

His son was still dead. For him, the house was symbolic of that. It was almost like revenge for how he had failed Jason. Having been there that night, and most nights since, Selina could understand where he was coming from. She resists the urge to reach out and touch him – to comfort him, or herself – and settles for curled fists on his countertop. He walks over to where she's leaning against the counter, mirrors her pose so that they're standing hip to hip, though she leans into the counter and he leans against it. He then hands her a glass of wine, probably some ridiculously expensive vintage import, and clinks his glass to hers. For a second, she thinks she could fool her brain into believing that things never changed; that they were the same people who would go out at night, protect the city that had taken so much from them, and return to their home, to their room, to their bed, to each other.

As she sipped the dark liquid, she knew it wasn't so.

"I'm staying," she says, breaking their silence.

"In Gotham?" Surprise colors his tone.

"Mhm. For good, this time." His brows shoot up. If she couldn't startle him, Selina could at least pride herself in being able to surprise him. She surprised herself, too; Selina hadn't settled on whether she'd stay or if this were a quick stop on the way to somewhere else. But being in his house with him, though the two were more broken and torn down than she was used to, made her feel some sort of way. Selina was never able to call any one place her home (stray cats can't really claim anything to be their homes, anyway), but she was sure that being with Bruce was as close as she could get, no matter how much he drove her to pull her hair out.

It shouldn't surprise her that she was still in love with him. Her masochistic nature would hardly allow anything but.

"Gotham is lucky to have you," he says, sipping his wine.

"Just Gotham?" she challenges.

He laughs without much humor, "You know how much I've missed you."

"You never called. I couldn't tell."

"It's a two-way street, Selina."

She rolls her eyes, "As if you're so easy to reach."

He doesn't offer anything in return, just takes another sip of the wine.

She continues. "For what it's worth, I missed you too." Hell, it was probably that that had driven her to come back to Gotham in the first place. She really was pathetic.

"Where are you staying?"

"Probably a hotel near downtown as I get settled."

"Don't be silly. You'll stay in the penthouse."

"Bruce."

"You know Alfred wouldn't have it any other way, don't make my life more difficult," he deadpans.

"Well, alright I guess."

Silence weighs between them for a few minutes, neither knowing what to say or do. Finally, he breaks it, "You never told me why you were here."

"I did, I said I'm moving back—."

"No, not Gotham. _Here_ , here. The Manor, with me." His voice returns to its usual gruffness, caught somewhere between vigilante and socialite.

Bruce knows the real reasons why she's here. She missed him. She loves him. And, quite frankly, she _needs_ him. But instead, Selina lamely settles for: "I saw you on the news. Your little super-team and Superman, too. I'm sure you're glad he's back." She's met with a curt nod. "I couldn't just sit back and watch. Especially with your new little girlfriend."

"My _what_?"

"Oh, c'mon, Bruce. I'm not _dense_."

"Diana's not my girlfriend."

"But she is your _type_."

"She's beautiful, yes," he admits.

She shakes her head, her voice lacking animation, "And here I thought you'd degrade after me."

He laughs, genuinely and from his belly, throwing her off guard. Hand to his chest, he shakes his head as if what he's about to say were the most obvious thing in the world. "Selina, I don't think you understand."

Her brow is furrowed. "Your behavior isn't giving me any clues."

"There _is_ no "after you", Selina."

The silence between them is deafening. "Don't do that to me, Bruce."

He offers her a quasi-smile, tinged with sadness. "You're it for me, Cat. You've always been."

"No," she says, surprising him. Her hands reach for her eyes, rubbing away in attempt to find some form of clarity. "No, no, no, no, no."

"I'm…sorry?" he offers bemusedly.

"You're not serious. You're – you're _not_ , you _can't_ be."

"As much as I wish I weren't—."

"You _let me leave!_ You let me _walk out of your life!_ " she raises her voice, caught between incredulity and anger. "How do you do that and say "I'm it"?"

"Because I love you, Selina. You needed to be let go. And if walking away from me made you happy, then I would do it again and again." He shrugs. "Besides, I can't really blame you."

Her eyes devour him, searching for answers in his face, his posture. The gray flecks of hair adorned his face in a charming way, one of the few details that reminded her that, at the end of the day, Bruce Wayne was still a human. His eyes, no longer on guard, seemed tired and vulnerable. He was opening himself up to her, something that in years past would have required an unparalleled amount of patience and optimism, but in which he did with just thirty minutes of her being there. She was dumbfounded, confused. Selina, always tactical and having an escape plan, found herself stuck between his gaze and her paralyzed feet. Her body was telling her to run while she still could, but he captivated her and kept her put. She was trapped, but she didn't know if she wanted to be anywhere else in that moment.

"Leaving," she begins, her voice cracking. "That was a mistake."

He doesn't know how to respond to her. He has nothing to say.

"I…I was under the impression that, after what had happened with Jason…with the house," she gestures around her, "…you didn't want me around. For months, Bruce, you pushed me away, you kept me out. And then, once the initial pain of Jay's death subsisted, you dove into your work. Tirelessly. Relentlessly. There was no time for us, for _me_. Not on some rooftop. Not in our house." She tugs at the necklace around her neck, freeing it from under her maroon dress and revealing his mother's ring, held gingerly by the finest gold chain. "I felt like a distraction. An obstacle. And – that's the last thing I wanted to be to you."

"Selina." He grasps the hand that holds her necklace. "You were never an obstacle."

"I _felt_ like I was, though. Even if you would never tell me. I only ever wanted to be your partner, your equal. I never wanted to be in your way. And sometimes…" she trails off, not knowing if she should continue.

"Sometimes?" he presses.

"Sometimes…I felt like you loved Gotham more than you loved me."

" _Selina_ …" he says, his heart breaking.

She feels a traitor tear slide down her cheek, hot and remorseful. Selina wipes it away quickly. "But anyway, I don't expect to take the same role in your life I had before I left. And I know we've both changed in the past two years and I'm still trying to figure out how to act around you, this new you. And I won't stop you if you want to date this Diana, I mean she's-"

He kisses her, ending her nervous rant with his lips, his hands still grasping hers between them as she held onto his mother's ring. The kiss feels familiar. Like driving down the same road on the way home from work, or eating your favorite home-cooked meal. The pattern and rhythm of their lips as they move on one another flows without fault. It's gentle and sweet and full of promise, but underlined with a deep passion that stems from their cores. Selina lets go of the necklace and frees her hands from his to reach for his hair, tugging the locks while simultaneously pulling him closer. His hands, in turn, run down her back, grasping her from behind and pulling her up onto the counter. He felt like they were twenty-something again, hiding from Alfred and Dick to steal a quick kiss before breakfast or dinner. She opens her legs to let him settle between them, their bodies pressed flush against one another and fully aware of the attraction that still remains very much alive between them.

Bruce pulls away from her lips to let them catch air, but continues his ministrations down her slender neck, leaving a trail of hot kisses up until her collarbone.

" _Bruce_ ," Selina moans. It's a sound he's thought about a lot for the past couple of years, in the solitude of the night where his only companions are his memories. She tugs at his hair again, how she knows he likes, and feels him between her legs, right at the warmth of her core. One of her hands travels down from his head, down his back, urging him closer to her in hopes of relieving the unbearable ache between her legs. The friction that comes from the contact causes the two of them to moan, uninhibitedly, but continue kissing.

They kiss each other like they'll never kiss again, his hands roaming her body as if he's memorizing her every inch. The way he holds her makes her think that he's been waiting for this for a long time. And maybe he has. Maybe they both have. But as they shed their garments and toss them aside - wine glasses fully forgotten, spilled, and even broken – they think of nothing but each other and this brief but idyll moment.

Because they both know that nothing good in Gotham ever endures. And that, come morning, their very characters can cause them to drift apart. But for their long-anticipated moment of passion, nothing exists beyond the crumbling kitchen, their skin, and their breath.

Tomorrow would have to wait.


End file.
